Domesticity
by BrokenChampagneBottles
Summary: Dean Winchester is the happiest man in the world, and he doesn't understand how it happened.


**Hello there! This is my first ever completed fic, so don't judge my writing based entirely on this. It has not been beta-d or anything, please do let me know if you see any errors and I will correct them. This fic was a response to a gif set on Tumblr, it was one with Misha looking all domestic and shit, so I wanted to write this.**

**Enjoy!**

**SPN SPN SPN**

After the first few months, Castiel adapted to domestic life like fish take to water. Better, in fact.

Everything has it's order, everything has code and social place. It's like pieces of a puzzle piece that fit together. Cas was literally created for fixing the order and he was good at it, from the apocalypse to simple things, like making dinner with perfectly chopped peppers.

He'd always liked the calm and the steady, but being a soldier always had the constant tense watch for attacks, the toddler tripping and knocking the table holding the puzzle together with a chorus of despaired wails from the participants.

Cas liked living like this, and it showed, grins crinkling his face with just the perfect touch of age to the corners of his eyes and the pure joy was practically tangible. Cas radiated when he was happy, and domesticity was something he had easily been adapting to.

So when the men have a dinner planned with Sam and his long term girlfriend (a sweet, comforting woman with a laugh like melted chocolate and hair curled into strands of golden thread), a considerably more snowy haired Bobby and a couple work friends from Dean's car shop, the moment hardly even seems out of place.

It had started with searching for cheap college courses for Sam and day jobs for both Dean, the elder Winchester having refused to make Cas work just yet, then had launched into an avalanche of renting a small but very open house with the ex-angel.

It was a small place, two bed, one bath, but it was so open to the woods around them that it hardly mattered. Their home felt like just another bit of this land to live in. Dean could walk in and toss his keys on the counter without feeling strange about it, wash up in the sink and watch outside as the ex-angel started to plant some seeds in his freshly plowed garden area. Domesticity had taken hold and to be honest, Dean couldn't exactly protest.

He liked the more easy air that Cas had gained with the mock safety, his smiles coming freely rather than the strained twitches of before. Those age ridden crinkles were exacerbated with each chuckle, each pealing laugh and grin as Dean shot a wink at the man, casually joking that his apron should say 'kiss the cook'. Cas would even banter back sometimes, smirking as Dean gaped for words. The ex-angel really could be witty when he choose to.

He liked how their problems were limited to judgmental neighbors and where to park the Impala because Charles from across the street has no god damn peripheral vision, concept of how much space a van takes up or skill at parallel parking. It was sweet to think of, really. Each moment of frustration brought a sense of gratitude by it's side that he never had to worry for if his brother had a pulse or his angel would wake up with a horrible scream. He was grateful for the little irritations.

Everything Dean thought he could never have was falling together at his feet without a single request for anything. Cas had even dragged him along to a painfully average farmers market and gotten assorted fruits and vegetables for tonights meal, examining his choices, held carefully as a child in those spindled hands, asking questions to the farmers about freakin' pesticides, for Christ's sake.

Dean felt like time was moving like a bullet, from speed and wind and whooshing, to a slamming stop, hitting the wall of… settling down. Hunters don't settle down, he was born a hunter and thought he'd die one at younger than forty. Yet here he was, aged fourty three, sawing at the end of a baguette rather than a vamps vertebrae. It wasn't something he would ever really understand, but Dean was happy living this peaceful life.

Everything about this made him happy, from supporting Cas' newfound passion for string instruments- "Just listen to this sonata, Dean, can you feel how the crescendo in the cellos increases the tension in explaining his yearning for his home?" "Cas, c'mon, you know I have no idea what a crescent is-" "Just listen… can you feel it?" "... yeah, I can." - to the bitter frustration for the DMV and their discrimination against his Baby- "What is their damn problem with the classics?".

Every puzzle piece has fallen into place and Dean can honestly say that he wouldn't have had this any other way. He has Cas, he has a home and a job, he has his brother and his foster father. Dean Winchester is happy and he says this, even as he nicks his finger when cutting some bell peppers, even as Cas laughs and pulls out a freakin' super hero bandaid, especially as their lips barely brush between chuckles. Dean Winchester is the happiest man in the world.

**SPN SPN SPN**

**So, yeah, that was that. Thank you for reading and I hope I delivered sufficient feels. **

**If you'd like me to write more, do review or message me or some shit, I have no idea what this community is like.**


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